


can i get in your pants?

by aeuire



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Meet-Awkward, Strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 10:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19972450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeuire/pseuds/aeuire
Summary: Okay, so Lance really needs to get this grade. He really, really needs to get this grade. If he has to get pants from some guy off the streets so he can get this grade, so be it. The ends justify the means, right?





	can i get in your pants?

**Author's Note:**

> hiiii so i wrote this sort of drabble a while ago and finally dug it out of my drafts!! it’s based off of this tweet: https://twitter.com/ephemelody/status/1116208086434209792?s=21
> 
> enjoy this clusterfuck i guess
> 
> also thank u to two of my mutuals on twt for beta reading this mess ily

In Lance’s nineteen years of living, he’s had good and bad days—and he’s absolutely determined to let this be a good one.

It was already off to a decent start; he woke up to his alarm without having to hit snooze even once _and_ he got dressed in under two minutes, which the brunet thought was pretty impressive.

“Lance!” Hunk, Lance’s roommate, calls as Lance is running out the door. “Good luck on your lab!”

“Thanks, Hunk!” Lance shouts back as he shuts the door, shoving a granola bar into his mouth and chewing at what probably would be deemed an unhealthy rate. He swallows most of it impatiently, almost choking, and then chugs down a bottle of water. His lab coat and other essentials are tucked away safely in the bag slung over his shoulder.

Nineteen-year-old college sophomore Lance McClain is in a good mood because he is absolutely going to _ace_ this chemistry lab. He’s going to ace the lab and bring his chem grade up _and_ impress his professor—along with his TA, too, while he’s at it. The TA for the course, a man by the name of Takashi Shirogane, is one of Lance’s idols. Regardless, it’s why instead of being barely on time, he’s about twelve minutes early—a new record for the brunet.

Just as he’s about to swipe in, Lance glances at the other early students. Some of them are whispering and looking at him with—is that… is that _pity?_ Others are snickering at him.

He looks down at his attire, hoping there isn’t some strange stain on his shirt or a hole in the crotch of his shorts—which has actually happened in the past. Pidge and Hunk think it’s a hilarious story, but Lance would rather wipe that mortifying event from his memories completely.

Speaking of shorts, a thought occurs to him—and it’s at this moment that he makes a very astute observation. Everyone is wearing _pants,_ and Lance is wearing shorts. _Cargo shorts._ In his haste to leave his dorm room, he’d forgotten one of the most important details— _clothing protocol._ Shit.

If the lab prof sees him in shorts, he’s going to get thrown out with an automatic zero, unless he manages to come back with the correct clothing before the deadline to swipe in.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a lot of time. The walk back to his dorm is fourteen minutes—eight if he runs. But that doesn’t account for the run back to the lab, which would be sixteen minutes total at the very least. The issue is, Lance doesn’t _have_ sixteen minutes to spare.

He’d text Hunk, but Hunk is in the middle of a physics lecture and even further from the dorm than Lance is. And Lance doubts he can get pants from Pidge or Allura. Wait, but maybe Matt has pants.

Lance shoots a text to Pidge.

**Monday** 7:58 AM

PIDGE

DOES MATT HAVE PANTS

_uhh yeah??_

_doesn’t everyone have pants_

_why do you want to know_

I NEED THEM

_but WHY_

_don’t you have.. your own_

JUST TLEL ME WHERE HE IS

HUMOR ME OK.

_uh you got some_

_weird ass vibes going on rn_

_whatever_

_he’s at work rn_

_pls for the love of god_

_don’t make me regret telling you this_

NVM THATS TOO FAR

_are you even going to tell me why you’re asking??_

**Read** 7:59 AM

Okay, so that plan’s a no-go.

Maybe if he sprints, he can cut the trip to his dorm down to maybe five-ish minutes, making it a ten minute trip to and back with two minutes to swipe in. However, that won’t account for the time it would take to get into his dorm room and slip on a pair of pants.

The brunet realizes it’s a futile hope by the time it’s 8:03, and he’s not even halfway to his dorm building.

Whoever said Mondays were the worst were jinxed them all, Lance thinks ruefully. This is it. His chem grade is going to drop a letter, all because he couldn’t put on a pair of fucking pants. Literally, not metaphorically.

Okay, okay, calm down, Lance tells himself. A failing lab mark is not the end of the world. Sure, his chem grade might drop and he might not pass—actually, that’s probably an exaggeration. He’ll still pass, since his grade is in an okay spot right now. He’ll definitely lose a letter grade, but he’ll still pass.

But losing a letter grade to a pair of _shorts?_

It’s not even about whether he passes or not. It’s about how much his chemistry grade is going to drop because of his idiotic wardrobe choice of the day. He drops down into a crouch and stares at the ground forlornly—which, he admits, might be a little melodramatic.

There are people around him on the sidewalk looking at him like he’s a madman, but Lance can’t bring himself to care because he’s _so fucking stupid._ A woman wrinkles her nose at him, clicking past him in her heels. The desolate student must be an absolute sight right now: crouching on the sidewalk, hair dishevelled, sweaty from running, looking to be on the verge of a mental breakdown.

The sun shines down on him almost mockingly.

God, Lance hates chemistry. He’s never taking another chemistry course again. Ever. Labs are stupid. Clothing protocol is even _more_ stupid.

Another guy passes him by on the sidewalk. It’s only when the guy’s about fifteen feet ahead of him when Lance realizes he’s wearing _sweats._

At this point, Lance is in last resort mode. If he has to beg this guy for his pants for the sake of his lab grade, he will absolutely fucking do it.

Now, don’t get him wrong, Lance is a man of dignity. But sometimes, even he will push that aside for the greater good—the greater good being his chemistry grade.

Without further ado, Lance scrambles to catch up to the guy in sweats—a guy who, Lance now sees, is actually quite cute, apart from the hairstyle. No, Lance changes his mind. The hairstyle actually looks cute, too. It’s a _mullet,_ but the guy somehow pulls it off. But Lance isn’t here to wax poetic about mullets—he needs pants _stat._

“Dude,” Lance gets out after tapping the stranger on the shoulder, pausing between his words to gasp for breath. “I need your pants. Like, really, _really_ need your pants.”

The guy turns around, giving Lance a blank stare. _“What?”_

Which, okay, is a reasonable response. Lance gets it; he probably looks super sketchy. Who the hell demands someone to give them their pants? Lance normally wouldn’t, but today is a special case. Plus, when he’s in panic mode, anything is within the realm of normality.

At least the stranger didn’t tell him to fuck off yet—key word being _yet._ Though Lance is in last resort mode, he isn’t a douche and will gladly leave the guy alone if he asks. He’s under no such delusion that the guy will even _agree_ to go along with this stunt, even if he waits long enough to hear Lance out.

“Trust me, we need to switch pants. _Please_ , man.” Lance is almost begging at this point, hoping that he isn’t going to alarm the dude. Maybe Lance should tone it down before he runs away.

The stranger’s eyebrows are raised sky-high, and he holds his hands up. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. You want my _pants?_ Why? Wait, who even _are_ you?”

“Trust me, I’ll explain later,” Lance pleads quickly, and before the other can open his mouth, Lance cuts him off. “Look, I promise I’m not trying to mug you or anything. It’s broad daylight and we’re in the middle of a sidewalk and I’m stupid, but not _that_ stupid,” he says all in one breath.

The guy narrows his eyes, squinting at him for a solid six seconds—probably the most uncomfortable six seconds of Lance’s life. Lance shuts his eyes tightly, already prepared for the oncoming rejection. But the stranger merely shrugs. “Fine. There’d better be a damn good explanation, then.”

Oh. He actually _agreed?_

_“Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”_ Lance could almost cry. He would hug the stranger out of sheer joy, but they’re still strangers, and Lance doesn’t want to scare the guy off before he can get his pants. Besides, Lance isn’t out of the danger zone yet; he still has only a few minutes left to swipe in.

“Here, let’s go to that restroom,” Lance says, practically dragging the guy whose name he _still_ doesn’t know into the restroom, pushing him into the closest stall. The guy changes without complaint, slipping out of his sweats quickly—probably because he noticed it was a time sensitive issue—and tosses it over to Lance’s stall. Lance shimmies into the still-warm sweatpants, throwing his own shorts over into the guy’s stall. It’d be weirder if Lance’s situation didn’t feel so dire. There’s a pen in the pocket of the pants, Lance notices, and he takes it out.

Shortly after Lance, the guy emerges from the stall wearing _his_ cargo shorts. If Lance had time to appreciate the sight, believe him, he would. His bisexual eyes would have loved to appreciate those legs. Alas, Lance was under a time constraint and could not properly ogle the stranger—who was, might he add, likely out of Lance’s league. He doubted the guy would even let Lance take him out on a date after the stunt the brunet just pulled.

“I only have like, three minutes left, but is it okay if you write your number on my arm, or something? Just, you know, so we can keep in touch.”

The guy nods, and Lance takes that as an _okay._ Lance strides forward, shoving the pen into his hands. A number is scrawled messily onto his arm in the next moment.

“I promise I’ll text you later. Thank you so so much, I have to go now, bye,” Lance says hastily without waiting for a response from the dark-haired handsome stranger guy. The pants are a little baggy and slightly shorter than his own sweatpants, but the most important part is that they _fit_ him and they’re pants, which is all that really matters. With a burst of energy Lance didn’t know he had, he sprints to his lab building and swipes in at 8:09, a mere minute before the deadline.

  
  


[+Add New Contact]

[+1 (xxx) xxx-xxxx]

**New Message**

**To:** pants

**iMessage**

**Mon, Apr 15,** 9:03 AM

i got to lab on time

seriously thank you SO fucking much

u saved me a letter grade

_Oh um_

_Np lol_

_Is this the guy from this morning?_

yes haha

lmk what i owe u

like i’ll seriously pay u if u want

i know it was a really udden situation

sudden*

fuck

_Lol_

_It’s fine_

_Was hoping to get my pants back tho_

OH

YEAH definitely

but frl i will literally buy u coffee or something

what kind of coffee do u like man

_Um_

_Black?_

_But seriously you don’t have to do this_

_It’s no prob_

wait black like

no cream ???

_Uhh… yes?_

_I was under the impression that black coffee was coffee without cream lol_

so ur telling me u drink coffee BLACK

without CREAM

next ur gonna tell me u don’t drink it with sugar either

_Well yeah_

_Sugar is too sweet_

WHAT

u drink coffee BLACK without CREAM or SUGAR

i-

_Are you criticizing my choice of coffee_

_I bet you drink caramel frappuccinos with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup_

erm

i think i’ve ordered that before

but that’s Besides The Point

_What’s your point_

that you drink the blood of satan

_And you drink liquid diabetes_

touché

_Anyways I think I’ll take you up on the coffee offer_

_Can we meet up on Friday?_

_At the Starbucks in front of the campus library_

_It’s a free day for me_

_But I understand if you’re busy_

oh yea sure man

i don’t have anything scheduled that day

what time?

_8 is fine_

ok !! i’ll get ur pants back to u then too

_Sure lol_

_You can have your shorts back too_

thanks

_It’s a date_

**Read** 9:07 AM

wait whta **(!)**

**Message not delivered.**

  
  


“So what you’re telling me is,” Hunk pauses for dramatic effect, “you have a coffee date with the guy whose pants you stole.”

They’re on their way to the dining hall when Lance finishes telling Hunk the story, which he now greatly regrets. Hunk, by nature, is not a judgmental person, but Lance knows that even Hunk wouldn’t be able to resist laughing at this incident. Lance knows that if it wasn’t about him, he himself sure would.

“I did not _steal his pants._ ” Lance makes an affronted face. “He let me borrow them!”

Hunk gives Lance the dryest look he can manage. “You literally begged a guy on the street for his pants. Do you know how _weird_ that is?”

“Listen, man,” Lance retorts. “First of all, it was a _sidewalk._ That’s a crucial detail. Second of all, I was desperate! You gotta do what you gotta do, Hunk!”

Hunk pinches his nose, shaking his head at the taller boy. “I pity the poor guy. What’s his name, anyway?”

“Oh, uh—yeah. About that,” Lance laughs awkwardly. He didn’t really have time to ask the stranger for his name, so Lance decided to just call him Pants in his head. It was an _emergency,_ so Lance could be excused from forgetting to do basic introductions. “I… don’t actually know.”

“Should I laugh? I feel like this is a good time to laugh. Oh my god, wait until I tell _Pidge._ ”

“Why would you do that? They’ll make so much fun of me!” Lance whines. Pidge is a menace and won’t hesitate to roast him until he’s crying on the floor—which admittedly, is a colossal exaggeration—but the point is, at least _Hunk_ has some restraint with his words.

“Speaking of Pidge, there they are,” Hunk waves, cupping his hands around his mouth to shout in the gremlin’s direction. “Hey, Pidge!”

“Say my name louder, why don’t you? Let the whole goddamn campus know while you’re at it, Hunk!” Pidge shouts back snarkily, though they all know there’s no real heat behind those words.

Lance and Hunk quickly catch up to Pidge. Hunk elbows Lance. “So,” Hunk starts with a grin, “Lance has a funny story to tell.”

“Fuck you, Hunk,” Lance groans. “I didn’t tell you this so you and Pidge could verbally torture me. I feel betrayed.”

“Please, Lance, this is _gold,_ ” Hunk exclaims, making grand gesticulations for Pidge’s benefit. “If you won’t tell it, I will.”

“Okay, fine,” the tall boy gives a sigh of defeat. “Have at it, Hunk.”

Pidge is already grinning with glee. “Oh, this _has_ to be good if sweet ol’ _Hunk_ is teasing you about this. Spill, Hunk.”

Hunk retells the story—with way more grandeur, which Lance vocally protests—and by the end, Pidge is absolutely cackling. “This is the first and last time you’ll be able to get into any hot stranger’s pants.”

“Listen, he just _happened_ to be hot. Even if he was ugly as shit, I still would have asked for his pants,” Lance huffs.

“Okay,” Pidge hums disbelievingly. “Whatever you say, Lance.”

“My _grade_ was on the line! If looks were that important, I would have perfect marks in every class.”

“Uh huh. You keep telling yourself that, Lance.”

“Hey! That was mean, Pidge.”

“I’m only being honest!” Pidge protests, though not too convincingly.

Hunk pinches his nose. “Okay you two, let’s all just agree that the pants guy was probably good-looking for a reason that didn’t correlate with Lance’s tastes in men. Now, can we _please_ get some food? I’m hungry.”

“Okay, okay,” Pidge and Lance chorus begrudgingly. Though Lance is more than happy to stop talking about Pants—whose name he should really find out find out—Lance can’t help but wonder how their next meeting will go. Hopefully, the brunet won’t make a fool of himself again—though he’s pretty sure it’ll happen again. Whatever. He’ll be fine. Probably.

**Author's Note:**

> idk if i should continue this considering how much i cringed while rereading this (which i’m not sure whether that’s something that always happens while reading your own writing or whether it’s genuinely cringe so uhh yeah)


End file.
